


Madman

by Emme2589



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Angst, Blood, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Mild Language, Panic Attacks, Suicide Attempt, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 08:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18139604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emme2589/pseuds/Emme2589
Summary: Clive is so sick of suffering, he just wants to end it all...until a certain gentleman changes his mind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that this is a work of fiction. I have a close family member who suffered from the mental illness portrayed in this story, so I drew on her experiences as well as my own with Depression and suicidal thoughts. However, if I end up getting something wrong, remember that only a mental health professional can tell you exactly how a mental health problem will manifest in an individual. If you suspect that you have a mental illness, it’s always best to talk to a doctor about it.
> 
> Thank you for listening. Now to the story.

The young man stopped walking. Though he had been walking all day and all night, not stopping for any reason, even when he became cold and tired, he still stopped here. Even in winter, the water rushed beneath the bridge he stood on, promising something that underlined his fear. He lifted his eyes. He was in London? He swore he hadn't walked that far, but here he was. Big Ben ticked on in the background, nearing closer to midnight.

Looking down into the water, he realized that he had an opportunity. He had been hoping for a way to disappear without any fuss. A freezing river would be perfect. Painful at first obviously, but not too bad afterwards.

Without giving it much more thought, he hopped up onto the stone rails that lined the bridge, woozy at the loss of balance. It was that sense of danger that cleared his mind, and made him even more convinced of his mission.

He stared into the water, relishing in his last true moment of life. The air felt nice on his clammy neck, as the small of his back was poking out from his suit jacket. It ruffled his hair, which fell over his eyes. Why bother getting a haircut when he would soon be in a coffin? He loosened his necktie, though, as the warmth from his body was suffocating him. It truly was a shame that the suit would be ruined in the water, but he didn't want to die in anything else. It was a special gift from Lady Dove, months before she would die peacefully in her sleep.

He was giddy at the thought of seeing her again, if an afterlife existed of course. He knew she and his mum and dad would be cross with him for taking his own life, but simply being with them would be enough for him. Otherwise, if there was no afterlife, then the pain would be over. It was a win win situation for him.

Taking one last deep breath, the last one he would ever take, he took a steady step forward-!

“Wait!”

The voice snapped him out of his daze, and his foot hovered over the edge, his heel holding all his weight until he was reoriented.

“I'm not entirely sure what you're attempting, young man, but I assure you, it is not a good idea.”

The voice came from near the end of the bridge. The footsteps got louder as the gentleman stepped closer. His voice was one the young man would recognize from a mile away.

The approaching man was Professor Layton, or his name wasn't Clive Albatross Dove.

“You can't change my mind.” Clive let his hair hide his face, humiliated at the idea of the professor recognizing him, “Don't try to save me.”

“I wasn't going to.”

Clive looked up through his bangs, finally locking eyes with the puzzle solver. Layton had an umbrella in his hands, but it was closed at the moment. He also had his trademark silk top hat of course, and he had a thick coat and gloves over his usual brown jacket. His eyes held understanding. His smile was warm.

Clive straightened from where he stood on the edge, “You weren't?”

Layton gently shook his head, “I have no intention of swaying your decision. However, if you don't mind, would you like to go for a walk with me?”

Clive narrowed his eyes, but his throat closed up before he could speak.

“You can still jump if you want after, but perhaps I can ease the pain for just a few minutes.” Layton took a few cautious steps forward.

“Don't come any closer!”

Layton stopped, not in alarm but in respect, “Very well. I shall talk to you from here.”

“What would it accomplish?” he couldn't stop the tear that escaped his eye, “I'm not going to change my mind, and you'll only get cold if you stay out here.”

Layton shrugged, “That's true, but my walk home was getting quite lonely. I was planning to stop by the supermarket on my way home. Would you like to join me?”

The younger man realized that the professor had not recognized him yet. Maybe he wouldn't, it didn't matter. All he knew for sure is that something in his heart was reaching out to the archeologist. It reminded him of failed attempts at his life in the past. He wanted that light, however he despised himself for it.

He finally relented, stepping off the edge to land on the bridge closer in, “Fine. I could use one last happy memory.”

“Excellent.” Layton led the way through the bits of snow that had yet to be cleared away, “Come along now, it will only get colder.”

He walked beside the professor, hands in his pockets. Now that the woozy feeling of danger was gone, the cold prickled through his suit and caused him to shiver. He ran a hand through his hair, only becoming more and more mortified with the situation. The professor must have such a dissenting opinion about him for being vulnerable so many times, but he wouldn't have to worry about that if the professor didn't know who he was.

“What's your name, young man?”

Clive bit his lip, scouring his brain for anything he could say that wouldn't give him away, “Klaus.” he decided. It was his middle name and an old nickname from secondary school, so it wasn't likely to rouse suspicion.

“Are you cold?”

Clive rubbed his arms through his suit jacket, “It's not too bad. I've been through worse.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Layton grimaced as he tilted his head down so the brim of his hat obscured his eyes. Pausing to let his umbrella rest on a nearby building, he undid the buttons on his coat.

“Oh no, Professor, you don't have to...” he tried to protest as Layton draped the coat over his shoulders.

“It wouldn't do to let you freeze out here.” Layton drew his hands in towards his body, “Where do you live, Klaus?”

Clive let his arms fall into the coat despite his internal ridicule, “Um...Cambridge.”

Layton’s tiny dot eyes widened as he retrieved his umbrella, “That far? Did you take a bus?”

“Um, no...” Clive’s hands found the pockets of Layton's borrowed coat, “I, uh...walked.”

Layton was still for a moment, but then he urged the young man to start walking down the street. Clive was afraid there would be more intrusive questions, but thankfully, Layton decided to drop the issue. They continued down the street in silence for awhile, the streetlights glinting off the piles of snow.

“Do you like pastries?”

Clive looked up, “What?”

“Pastries.” Layton stepped into one of the few businesses that was still open, “My godson saves up all his pocket change to get the buttered ones with strawberry jam every time we visit. It cheers him up no matter how sour of a mood he may be in.”

_Luke._ Clive sighed, “I'm not hungry.”

“Hm?” Layton stepped up to the counter, “Are you certain?”

Clive hung by the entrance, still making some attempt to hide his face, “Yeah. I haven't had much of an appetite lately.”

In truth, he _was_ noticing his hunger after the long walk, but he also feared that anything he ate would simply come back up.

Layton scrutinized him the way he always seemed to when they were together. He was too smart to not see right through him, but Clive was slowly finding that he did not care anymore.

Still, his stomach tied into knots at the idea of being found out.

Layton's smile finally broke through his infamous piercing gaze, “Alright. If you insist.”

Clive waited for Layton to finish at the store so they could leave together. Layton paused just outside the door to take his pastry from its wrapping and take a small bite. He had another in his other hand that didn't escape Clive's notice.

Clive's foot absently tapped on the stone of the street, “Who is that for?”

Layton started once more down the street, “You, in case you change your mind. If you don't, I'm sure my daughter would love it.”

_Flora._ Clive's stomach clenched into a tighter knot.

The walk around London was mostly quiet. Layton cleverly kept the pastry in Clive's line of sight, and he began to battle between his sickness and his hunger. One of them had overpowered him before, but the other was quickly winning.

Finally, halfway around the busier streets of London, he growled out in frustration.

“Gimme the sweet.” Clive all but snatched it from him, taking a huge bite from it as soon as he had pulled the paper away.

Layton grinned knowingly, but said nothing.

Once half the pastry was gone, the sickness won out again, but pleasantly, the bits he'd managed to swallow stayed down with no problem. Still, he wrapped up the rest of it to stash in the coat pocket. He wouldn't be needing the rest of it.

“Um, Professor?”

“Yes, Klaus?”

The bridge was coming back, and Clive was conflicted.

“You...know who I am. I know you do.”

Layton’s smile turned sympathetic, “Yes. I know it's you, Clive. I just wasn't sure if you wanted to tell me yet.”

“And you didn't care?” Clive massaged his neck, “About what happened? All the destruction I caused?”

“It's been years. I assumed you'd gotten out of prison by now.” Layton crossed his arms as his breath fogged in the air, “How old are you now?”

Clive kicked at the snow with his worn dress shoes, “I'm twenty three.”

“Mm. Do you live by yourself?”

“Why does that matter?”

Layton shrugged, “I was just curious.”

Clive listened to their footsteps as they walked. Each tap reverberated in his mind.

“Yes. I live alone.”

Clive’s feet forced him to halt. They'd made it back to the bridge.

Layton lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, “You said I couldn't change your mind. Didn't you?”

Clive felt the dread hang over his head like a raincloud. The pain was gone for awhile, but it came back so much worse. It felt as though he was being abandoned, even though Layton was doing what he wanted.

“I don't want you to die.” Layton’s voice became uncharacteristically somber, his gaze cast to the ground, “But I hope at least that I was able to bring you some amount of joy. I'll make sure you get a proper funeral.”

The words cut him like a knife. Clive had never felt so much regret over something he hadn't even done yet. He was so certain that nobody cared for him, but Layton had proved him wrong. Simply the promise of a funeral aroused so much emotion inside him that he feared it would cloud his judgement.

_I don't want you to die._

“Come. Let’s walk to the center.”

Clive leaned on the banister, staring down into the murky, icy water. Layton had an arm around him, also looking into the water, but with much less interest. It was obvious what Layton was doing, and yet Clive found himself falling for it.

“I should probably give you your coat back.” Clive carefully slid out of it, biting down a shout of surprise at the sudden cold air on his skin.

Layton's hands were shaking as he took it back, “I'm sorry.”

The sorrow in Layton's voice was genuine. As much as he tried to hide it, and he was normally good at masking his emotions, it still stuck out through his usual facade. It made Clive feel even more desolate.

His hop onto the banister startled the professor enough that he stumbled back.

“Thank you, Layton.” Clive refused to look at him. This wouldn't last. He had no reason to live, and this wouldn't change that.

Layton backed away, “I really am sorry. Safe travels... _Clive.”_

Clive prepared to jump as Layton stayed rooted in place. He was convinced nobody cared, but now someone he respected was struggling to stay composed. He was going to watch Clive freeze to death, and there will be nothing he can do.

“Layton? Could you, um...”

Layton still didn't move, “Yes?”

The words were lodged in his throat. If he followed through on his request, he would be all alone when he died. That wasn't much better. How could he have so easily fallen for Layton's trick!? Now he would either die alone or transfer his pain to someone else!

Unless...

_Unless you choose not to die at all._

Clive’s hands shook as his numb fingers pulled into fists, _“Goddammit, Layton.”_

He jumped off the banister to hug his savior for the third time, collapsing into a sobbing mess.

_“You don't want me, Layton. I'm a madman. This world is better off without me. Don't do this, I just want to end the pain.”_

“Shh.” Layton had let his coat and umbrella fall to the ground, “I know. I know you want to end the pain, but don't do it like this.”

Clive hated himself for it, but he hadn't been this happy in so long, he'd forgotten what it felt like. His desperate grip on the professor eventually loosened, his tears dumping out all the emotions he had been holding back for too long.

“I can drive you back to Cambridge if you like.”

Clive’s breath hitched against the collar of Layton's jacket, “It wouldn't matter. I've been evicted.”

Layton jumped back, “Evicted?”

Clive held his wrinkled tie, “I told you I was a madman, didn't I?”

Layton scrutinized him again, though his eyes still sparkled with sympathy.

“Don't tell me.” Clive deadpanned, “You want me to spend the night at your place?”

“A gentleman wouldn't leave you out here in the cold after they saved your life.” Layton picked up the umbrella and the coat to carry in his arms, “We can figure out what to do in the morning.”

“Layton, I'm a _madman!”_ Clive reiterated, “Did that slip your mind? You don't _want_ me! Not here, not _anywhere!”_

Layton tilted his head as he walked away, “Are you coming?”

Clive threw his arms up in exasperation, “Now I remember why I wanted to toy with you...”

“Come along now, Clive. I live close by.”

Completely ignored. He rolled his eyes, completely at a loss.

This would be interesting.

***


	2. Chapter 2

_Clive sipped at his tea, marveling again at the majesty of the house. It had been five years since he was adopted, and yet he still wasn't used to the mind-boggling wealth. It did nothing to fill the void his parents left behind, but the love of his adopted mother was allowing him to heal, slowly but surely._

_That was what he was feeling. Clive set the teacup down to smile at himself in the grand mirror, gazing in awe at how nice he looked in the new suit with his hair combed back. He didn't necessarily care about the wealth, though it was nice, and he knew he was incredibly lucky. What he truly cared about was the fact that this woman cared so much for him that she showered him with gifts._

_On top of the maternal love she radiated, Clive knew that she could buy anything in the world for herself, anything at all, and yet she catered to his needs first. His laptop broke down, so she gave him a new one. He wanted to study at the university, so she paid for every class he took. He expressed a desire to learn mechanics, and so she hired someone who could teach him._

_He meant the world to her, just like a proper family. His smile in the mirror widened._

_“Master Clive?” Cogg entered the room, careful not to touch any of the furniture with his greasy hands, “Are you ready for your lesson?”_

_“Yeah, just give me a second.” Clive shed his suit jacket, heading up the stairs to change into something more suitable for the lesson, “Do you know if Lady Dove is up yet?”_

_“Master, you can call her mom if you want.”_

_“And I asked you to call me Clive, without the Master, yet here we are.” he decided to check on her before heading to his room. It was closer anyway._

_“Lady Dove?” he knocked on the door, “The maids are wondering where you are.”_

_There was no reply. He waited, but no sounds came from inside the room._

_“Lady Dove? Constance?” he tried again, knocking more forcefully, “Are you up? You're starting to worry me. Please answer.”_

_Clive twisted the doorknob, but it was locked, like it always was. Lady Dove liked to be alone in her own room when someone wasn't helping her in and out of her wheelchair, but it was this very detail that began to make him really worry. Lady Dove had been ill for awhile, but there was no reason to worry, right? She had been getting better, and the doctors expected her to make a full recovery._

__But she's old. _Clive’s brain helpfully told him,_ She just turned 63. She's in a wheelchair every moment she's awake. What if she...? __

_Clive’s heart dropped, “Cogg! Help me get this door open!”_

_Cogg climbed the rest of the stairs to fiddle with the lock, “There's no replica key. We have to get Spring.”_

_“There's no time for that!” the 16-year-old braced his shoulder for impact, “On three! One, two-!”_

_The door could be fixed, but Lady Dove was irreplaceable._

__“Three!” __

_The door creaked, bending only slightly. Curse this wealth! Once more, “One, two, three!” another creak, slightly bending, not enough._

_“Once more, Master Clive!” Cogg backed away from the door, “We're almost inside!”_

_“Once more. Once more!” Clive joined him across the hallway, “One...two...THREE!”_

_He cried out as they both ran into the door at full speed, and the lock finally broke to allow them entrance._

_“Lady Dove!” Clive knelt by her bedside, where she rested as though she were sleeping, “Lady Dove, wake up!”_

_He pressed two fingers to her wrist. There was no pulse._

_His happiness came crumbling down around him, “No...no! This isn't right! We were a family!”_

_Cogg was frozen at the doorway, “Help. Help! LADY DOVE IS IN DANGER! SOMEBODY HELP!”_

_Cogg's booming voice echoed through the house. Doctors were called, the police phoned. Clive was still by her bedside. This was all so familiar, like he was staring into the flames that engulfed his previous life all over again._

_“No...please...Lady Dove...” Clive huddled up to her, holding her hand close to his heart. She was so stiff and cold. Everything about her was so wrong, “Mom...don't leave me..._

_“I need you...”_

***

Luke climbed down the stairs that morning, so tired that he had left his blue cap upstairs. He yawned, heading for the kitchen and passing the living room as he did so.

He stopped mid-step, walking backwards until his eyes fell on the couch. Clive was lying in a position that couldn't be comfortable, wearing a wrinkled grey suit with a white button up shirt and an orange tie. His shoes sat neatly at the front door, his socks scuffed and dirty from the walk. A sound came from the kitchen, and Luke was snapped from his musings.

“Professor?” he called into the kitchen, “Is that Clive?”

Layton emerged with one hand on his hat, “I see you're finally awake.”

The young apprentice yawned again, “I didn't sleep very well.”

“Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.” Layton gestured toward the kitchen, “We should let Clive sleep. He's had a rough night.”

Clive's eyelids fluttered open, and he groaned from the odd twisting his back had done during the night. His head was pounding as he sat up.

“Did we wake you?” Luke drew Clive’s attention, “I'm sorry.”

Clive gazed at the boy. Actually, he wasn't much of a boy anymore. The time travel crises happened when Luke was about 12, so that meant he was almost 16 now? He almost didn't recognize him with how much taller he was.

“Wow.” Clive chuckled with empty eyes, “You look nothing like me.”

Luke offered a gracious smile, “It's good to see you again, Clive. Did you sleep well?”

Clive rubbed his eyes before he pulled his twisted suit jacket off, “No. I slept like I was in a suit.”

“You are the one who walked here from Cambridge.” Layton rose one eyebrow, “Why come here in a suit?”

“Cambridge?” Luke said.

Clive was too exhausted to explain, “Don't ask.” he lifted the jacket to smooth it out, “Blimey, I need a shower.”

“The bathroom is upstairs.” Layton returned to the kitchen, “Unless you would like breakfast first?”

“That would be great, thanks.” Clive’s feet padded across the floor as he hung the jacket on the hatstand above his shoes, then he followed the two others into the kitchen.

Layton had a carton of eggs ready to crack over a frying pan while Luke set some bread in the toaster and retrieved the butter from the fridge.

Luke leaned back on the counter when he was through with his task, “It's so nice when Flora doesn't insist on cooking.”

Layton gave the boy a cheeky smile over the crackling eggs, “You mean because she isn't here?”

“Yup!” Luke threw an apple into the air to catch it again, “I love her to pieces, but if she tries to put fish on buttered toast again, I think I'm going to have an aneurysm.”

Clive laughed at the exchange, “Where is Flora?”

“Uni.” Luke took a hearty bite of the apple, “That reminds me, Clive; Why are you here in London when you live all the way in Cambridge?”

“Luke, swallow first.” Layton gently scolded. Luke just continued to chew in response.

He was hoping this question wouldn't come up, but he decided to answer honestly anyway. He laced his fingers together under his chin, pondering the best way to say it before he opened his mouth.

“I was evicted. It was the day I was supposed to leave, but I had nothing I wanted to keep in that flat anyway, aside from that suit and a few other odd trinkets. I was sad and upset, so I decided to try and take a walk to calm my nerves.”

Luke quieted instantly, swallowing his bite of apple with a bit of apprehension. Layton tended to the eggs, but Clive knew he still listened with a keen ear.

“Well, it was kind of working? But I didn't want to go home and face the problem again, so I just kept walking, and walking, and walking...” Clive was quaking at the memory; All those bills stacked on top of each other with angry red lines on them... “Pretty soon I had lost direction of where I was going, and where I had been. It was morning when I left the house, and it was eleven thirty when the professor found me, so I was definitely out longer than I thought I would be...”

Luke was almost afraid to ask his next question, and Clive knew what he must be thinking. It was another question he dreaded, but Luke was a sweet boy, and he wanted to come to terms with what happened so he could begin the process of healing all over again.

“What were you doing when the Professor found you?”

Clive shuttered, hiding his face behind his mop of hair. Maybe a haircut was in order after all.

Layton didn't react, but his hand at the stove slowed.

“I was about to take my own life.” he said simply, “Layton saved me. Again.”

Great Scott, he owed the man his own life three times over now. Maybe the guardians of fate had just decided that Layton would be his constant savior. Maybe it wanted to torture him. Who could tell, really?

Luke set the partially-eaten apple on the counter, suddenly losing his appetite.

“Don't pity me.” Clive sighed, “I don't need that right now.”

“Right.” Luke seemed to finally realize that his cap was missing, “I'll be back.”

Layton turned off the stove to scoop the eggs onto a plate, “An interesting new development.”

Clive was incredulous when the plate was set in front of him, “What?”

“I want the full story from you, Clive.” Layton returned to the stove to put the kettle on, “I don't want you to be lost in painful memories, but I've hardly spoken to you since your release.”

“You're kidding!” Clive pinched the bridge of his nose, “Professor, am I just a _puzzle_ to you!?”

“Not just. You are a human being first and foremost.” Layton set the leaves in the kettle and waited for it to boil, “However, all people are puzzles as well, and you are a very fascinating one.”

“Unbelievable.” Clive slumped in his chair when a fork was placed beside his plate, “I _hate_ puzzles!”

Layton’s brow twitched, but he had turned away before he could give away his true reaction, “That is no attitude that will sit kindly with me, young man.”

Clive grinned, “Is that your way of saying bugger off?”

Layton stopped himself before he could rise to the bait, taking a deep breath to calm himself, no doubt a part of his gentlemanly training. After a long minute of silence, Clive decided he wouldn't wait for a reply. His hunger was back, and he really did want that shower.

 _“Puzzles don't solve themselves.”_ Layton muttered as he took the kettle off the heat, _“That's for sure.”_

***


	3. Chapter 3

Clive ran a comb through his hair for the twentieth time. He hadn't gotten a trim in months, and he hadn't shaved since the day before he was evicted. It was starting to make him look like a werewolf with those bags under his eyes.

Boy, did he feel awful.

Still. His hair wasn't cooperating with him, and he had no means to shave his face as his razor was in the flat he no longer had, so he would just have to live like this until a solution was made.

_Live._

What an odd-sounding word.

He splashed a bit of water on his face, attempting to rub the sleep out of his eyes. His hands trailed on the suit he still wore, specially tailored for him. He had nothing else to wear, and staying in it made him feel better somehow. More confident. He finally gave up, flicking off the lightswitch to trudge down the stairs.

He didn't suspect anything was wrong until his footsteps entered the kitchen.

“These ones?” Luke held up a handful of chopped vegetables.

“Yes. Careful now, don't let it splash!”

Layton stood at the cutting board while Luke tended the boiling pot on the stove. Layton was giving directions, but Luke clearly wasn't following them very strictly.

“I know, Professor. I know how soup works. I've made soup a thousand times!”

“Alright, I just don't want you getting distracted.” Layton finally noticed the new arrival, “Clive. Feeling better yet?”

Clive didn't reply. He'd been frozen this whole time, his gaze fixed solely on the knife Layton held in his right hand.

“Clive?” he set the knife down, but Clive didn't move, “What's wrong?”

Luke turned the heat down at the alarm in his mentor's voice, “Clive?”

Clive felt something burning up from his stomach at the disturbing deja-vu. He was still rooted in place, though. He forced himself to swallow, eyes never leaving the knife.

“Clive?” Layton took a steady step forward, “Cli-!”

That was all he needed. The movement made Clive break away to dash up the stairs, his shoes slipping on the floorboards as he returned to the bathroom to lean over the toilet. The vision didn't leave him, even as he poured his stomach out, even as two sets of panicked footsteps joined him at the doorway, stunned and breathless.

Clive coughed several times once he'd finished retching, all the color having drained from his face and leaving him feeling weakened and cold. No bile had gotten on his suit. Good.

“Clive...?” Layton approached him to kneel down, placing a hand on the young man's back, “What on Earth was that?”

Clive shook his head, his arms wrapping around himself, _“I-I can't be around knives, Layton. Something bad. I can't. So bad.”_

His words became less coherent after that. Layton gently guided Clive away from the toilet bowl.

“Clive.” Layton said, a bit more firmly this time, “Wait here, alright? Get yourself cleaned up.” he stood to guide a horrified Luke away, “Luke, we're getting rid of those knives.”

Clive teetered on the edge of consciousness, until the taste in his mouth was too much to bear. He stood carefully, trying to avoid the blood rushing from his head as his blood pressure was much lower than it should be. When he finally stood with no problems, he flushed the toilet and then used water from the sink to rinse out his mouth. Maybe he should have grabbed his toothbrush before heading off on his walk. Oh well, it couldn't be helped.

From here, he was locked in place, afraid to leave the room with no windows, until Layton returned with hands in his pockets.

“You can come back now.”

Clive looked up into his reflection, “No more knives?”

“No more knives.” Layton kept his distance, though Clive could tell he wanted to reach out.

_I don't deserve your compassion. Stop wasting it on me. You'll regret it, you will._

Maybe that's why he hated Layton so much. He couldn't see just how much of a lost cause he was.

“Okay.” Clive tried to focus on breathing as his heart finally caught up to his panic, “Just give me a second.”

He headed back down the stairs with thoughts full of lead. Layton was true to his word; There was not a single sharp object in sight.

Clive collapsed into a chair at the table, his head in his hands, “Thank you.”

Layton’s gaze drifted to Luke at the stove, who in turn was staring into the contents of the soup like it was a failed experiment. Layton had never seen the boy so upset around food, though it was perfectly understandable in this case.

Layton didn't want to push Clive’s boundaries, but he was also concerned for his safety, so softly, he asked, “Why do you feel so unsafe at the idea of knives?”

Clive let his head rest in his arms to hide his blush. When it came to being emotionally composed, he and Layton could not be farther apart. How had he managed to pretend to be Luke for so long? Even though Luke expressed himself more than Layton, at least the sight of a knife didn't push him into full-blown panic.

Just when Layton had given up on getting an answer, Clive's voice came muffled from the hard wood.

 _“This is part of why I'm a madman.”_ Clive’s fists shook in front of him, _“It all started a few months after I lost my parents. I was feeling so bad that simply being near a window in a multi-story building gave me such a compulsive desire to jump from it. I felt I was out of control, and the orphanage didn’t realize what was making me cry for a long time because I was ashamed of it.”_

Luke swallowed as he stepped away from the stove, deciding he didn't want to hear the rest as he climbed the stairs to his room. As for Layton, he simply stood with one hand to his mouth, his eyes hidden under his hat.

 _“As it turned out, almost any dangerous situation could give me that same feeling. Being too near a fire, the presence of pill bottles, poison ivy, adults with cigarettes, even illegal drugs. Every time I realized something could take my life, I became morbidly fascinated by it, to the point where I had to actively change my surroundings so the bad feelings would stop.”_ Clive finally lifted his eyes to see that Layton was supposedly lost in thought, _“And of course, anything too sharp would fit that list, like knives.”_

He knew the thought process Layton was no doubt going through, but he waited. He would answer the question the professor might have, otherwise his thoughts would be too jumbled to explain.

“But you were in dangerous situations before. The Gilded 7 Casino for instance. Luke was panicking far more than you. Or what about your malfunctioning machine? You were regretful back then, not panicked.”

Clive sighed, letting himself smile just a little, “There were a few reasons. First, I had only been off my medication for a single day, which helps me focus no matter what else happens. Second, I had a clear goal. I was tricking you to bring you to Allen, meaning I had to actively pretend. When I have a task to focus on, the thoughts of suicide go away because I feel I have a purpose again. It wasn't fail proof, but that's why I forbade violence in most family buildings.”

Clive grabbed a place beneath his shirt, on the inside of his elbow.

“And the final reason has to do with my insanity itself.” he stood from his chair, “That's all I'm willing to say on the matter, so if you have any other questions, please set them aside for now.”

Layton opened his mouth, then closed it again. He debated something in his head. Clive tried to leave, but Layton blocked his way out.

“Layton, I said no more-!”

“How long have you off your medication?”

Clive began to shout, then he stopped, “What?”

“By now. How long has it been since you last took it?”

That was what he was asking? He wasn't even questioning what he needed a medication for, in fact it was clear the question wasn't asked out of spite for Clive's wishes; It was one made of concern.

Clive decided that was fine, “Six months. I had to drop it because it was too expensive, but ironically, it's what cost me my job.”

Layton was caught between questions, “Clive...”

“I said no more questions, Layton, _just drop it.”_ Clive roughly shoved past him, “I'm going to bed. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll die in my sleep.”

That last remark was meant only as a jab, but even as the words left his lips, he couldn't help but hope it would really happen.

***


	4. Chapter 4

Clive lazily cast his gaze over the racks of clothing on display in the shopping center. It was about a week later, and after spending hours at a time trapped in the living room and fearing that Layton had forgotten just one potentially dangerous thing, the pressure on his chest had finally eased and he was able to become confident in his ability to drive again. His wallet was one of the things he'd salvaged from his flat.

“Why did I need to come with you?”

Clive looked up from where he was leaning against the wall. Layton wasn't looking at him, almost appearing passive, but Clive knew better. His attention was on him.

“For my own safety.” Clive ran a hand through the various shirts as he walked past the professor, “I’ve been getting better, but if I was driving alone, I might perceive it as a dangerous situation and start to panic. However, since you were with me, if I crashed the car, you would die too. I don't want anyone else to die, so because i have a responsibility to protect you, it gets rid of those feelings.”

He was already feeling better. It was nice.

“I see.” Layton wouldn't have let him drive his car alone anyway, but Clive had been insistent himself, which is why he asked, “What are you looking for?”

Clive shrugged, “I don't care what I get. I only need something to wear so I can take my suit to the dry cleaners. Don't worry, I can pay for that too.”

Clive grimaced at the sight of the short-sleeved shirts. No, something with long sleeves.

“Ah, this looks comfortable enough.” Clive grabbed a simple white turtleneck.

Layton followed him through the aisles, “Why do you always want to wear that suit?”

Clive found a basic pair of pants to drape over his arm, “The same reason you always wear your hat. Lady Dove gave this to me as a gift. She said it made me look handsome.” Clive paused, his eyes glazing over at the memory, “I can scarcely wear anything else anymore. It makes me feel like myself again.”

He did have a “self” beneath all the layers of trauma and insanity. He took pride in who he truly was, a cunning master of deduction and trickery, but Layton already knew that.

He made his way to the checkout aisle as Layton caught up behind him, “Isn't it a bit small on you?”

“A little, but I don't care. It's not like it's too tight.” he lay the clothing items out for the cashier, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

“Clive, I can pay for that.”

“No, Layton!” Clive forced a breath in through his teeth. It would do no good to make a scene here, “Let me handle it. Please.”

Layton was stunned enough that Clive swiftly handed over a five, muttering a “keep the change” before hurrying off with the items. They didn't speak again until they were outside, blinking in the light of the sun.

Clive slowed his pace a bit as he sensed the older man's confusion, “I have money, just not a lot.”

Layton nodded, though still a bit taken aback.

“Oh, and if you can,” Clive opened the driver's-side door, “Call me Klaus if we're in public. I don’t want anyone recognizing me.”

“Of course.” Layton took the front passenger seat, “I'm sorry.”

Clive paused at the steering wheel before putting the key in the ignition. Even then, he didn't start driving right away.

“I don't like people spending money on me out of pity.” he finally began to pull out of the parking lot, “I’m not against charity, but working for something you want is far more rewarding than having it handed to you. That's why I still had part-time jobs when I was under the care of Lady Dove.”

That was when Layton began to relax, “Ah. I understand that.”

 _Do you, though?_ Clive pushed the thought from his mind. It was time to focus.

They made a quick stop at home so he could change out of his suit into the new clothes. Clive wasn't sure if white was his color, but he didn't think about it. The suit was what mattered. It was in the streets of London when something went wrong.

“Whoa!” Layton gripped onto the door when the car jerked, “What was that!?”

“I got this.” Clive shrugged as he swerved back into his lane, “I've been driving for years.”

“Clive, stop being so flippant with my car! Do you want to crash!?”

How predictable. Even when Layton was shouting, it was out of fear and not anger. Still, it was beginning to grate on him.

“I can handle this, Professor. I wouldn't let harm come to you!”

“Clive, stop this car.”

“I said I got this.” Clive tightly gripped the steering wheel as he turned to switch lanes.

“Your turn signal!”

The car behind them screeched to a halt, angrily honking their horn.

“I can handle this, Layton!”

“Clive, _stop!”_

Clive grinned as he sped up. This would be no problem for him. After all, he was… _he was...?_

The word came to him as another car unexpectedly turned in front of him.

_Madman._

Clive slammed on the brake, quickly pulling to the side of the road and switching the gear out of drive.

Clive's heart was still pounding from the elation. He kept his gaze down, forehead resting on the wheel, terrified of Layton's reaction.

Layton calmed himself now that the danger had passed, “What happened?”

Clive forced himself to swallow, still not lifting his gaze.

“That was the other side of my madness.” he slowly sat up, still elated, but also now humbled, “I'm afraid I can't drive anymore. My judgement is clouded in a different way than before.”

Layton stayed where he was, no doubt processing what he heard, “The other side?”

Clive nodded, his head swaying from the movement, “I feel invincible, like nothing can hurt me no matter what. Instead of being careful to keep you safe, I am now overconfident in my abilities. We have to switch places.”

Still, neither man made any effort to move. Clive was still happy, like he had been in the store, but he should have known better than to assume it was any ordinary happiness. He knew there was no escape from the madness, even when he wanted to live.

“You should have known better than to save me.” Clive unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the door, “I told you I was a madman. You should have listened.”

Layton sighed, following Clive's actions to leave the car, “I'll be the judge of that. For now, let's switch places.”

 _For a gentleman, you're incredibly stubborn._ Clive thought bitterly, “Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you.”

***

_Clive listened anxiously to his mother on the phone in the other room, staring down at the toys he no longer had an interest in playing with._

_“We just want to help our child...yes, he's almost nine years old...uh huh...are you sure? Something that drastic-!”_

_Clive was assuming the worst. Nobody wanted him. His madness only got worse as he aged, and many were quick to tell him that. His trip to the doctor the other day was even more foreboding, as the man was terrified of the results of his tests._

“I've never seen a case this terrible before!” _he had said,_ “And at such a young age!”

_“I know, just give me a chance!” his mom continued, “A treatment!? You can help him!?”_

_Well, he was convinced now. His parents didn't want him either._

_“Hey, sport.” his dad knelt down in front of him, “Why the long face? We have good news!”_

_It was at that moment his mom was off the phone. Clive began to cry._

_“Huh? Hey, Clive...” his dad lifted him up to set in his lap, “What's wrong? Hey, shush, you'll be okay...”_

_“Do you want to give me up?” Clive turned to his mom, “Who were you on the phone with? Are you going to get rid of me!?”_

_“Heavens no!” Mrs. Albatross knelt down as well to brush the tears away, “You're our son! We would never get rid of you!”_

_Clive sniffled sadly, his gaze turned up hopefully, “Really?”_

_“We love you, kiddo.” Mr. Albatross ruffled his hair, “You'd have to use an entire army to pry us away from you!”_

_“But then, why...?” Clive leaned into his father's chest, as if he wanted to hide, “That man said I was crazy. Do you really want to keep me after everything I did?”_

_“Sweetheart, that wasn't you.” his mom held his cheek, still damp with tears, “Your madness does not define who you are. It's simply something you're stuck with, and we want to banish it so you can be happy again.” her smile warmed his heart, “The normal happy.”_

_Clive’s smile mirrored hers, “Promise you won't get rid of me?”_

_“Cross my heart and hope to die.” she tapped her finger to his nose, and he giggled._

_“So then, who were you talking to?” Clive lost his smile, “Was it another doctor?”_

_“Actually, it was a scientist. Your doctor recommended treatment from him, and so I was just making the necessary arrangements.”_

_“Treatment?” Clive bounced up onto his feet excitedly, “They can make the madness go away!?”_

_“We hope so. We're willing to try, in any case.”_

_Clive ran to his mother for a hug. Mr. Albatross joined in, holding him in a secure blanket of comfort._

_“I love you, Mum.” Clive squeaked as tears of joy replaced the ones of despair, “I love you, Dad.”_

_“We love you too, Clive.”_

_So they were leaving for the research institution, like Clive had suspected, but they weren't to be separated. They would go together._

_He didn't care where his parents went, as long as he could go too._

***


	5. Chapter 5

Clive smiled his first real smile in ages as he gazed at his reflection in the mirror. It was rare for him to feel this normal, between swings of madness, so he took that opportunity to get his hair cut and his face shaved. He had never cut his own hair before, so it was a bit uneven, but his hair was naturally fluffy, so it hid that pretty well. He ran a hand over his face again. This would be a good day, he could feel it.

Smoothing down his ironed shirt under the suit jacket, he saluted at his reflection before heading down the stairs. A quick peek out the window revealed that the Laytonmobile was not in the driveway, so Layton wasn't home. Figures.

Plan B then, he would take the bus. It was probably for the best anyway, as he was familiar with the bus system from his months in poverty without a car, and he couldn't rely on Layton to drive him places all the time. He was already gracious enough allowing him to stay free of charge, so he might as well try to pull his own weight around here.

Layton kept a notepad in a drawer in the kitchen, so Clive took that out and clicked the pen beside it. The tip hovered over the page as Clive's mind began to wander. It was a dark thought that he did his best to dismiss. He had never written a suicide note before, but that didn't mean he'd never thought about it.

Shaking his head, he wrote down what he'd originally meant to write;

_Job interview today. Don't freak out if I'm not here when you get back. -Clive_

He hoped it was legible enough. He tore the page from the notepad to stick it to the fridge with a magnet. Both Luke and Layton always checked the fridge first once they got up or came home, and they deserved the peace of mind at least.

“Clive?”

Speak of the devil. Clive put the notepad and pen away as Luke entered the kitchen, “Hey, Luke.”

“You look nice today.” Luke moved around him towards the fridge, “What's the occasion?”

“Thank you.” Clive pointed to the note as he left, “Read the note.”

Luke read it anxiously, fearing the worst, “Oh...job interview?”

“You know what that is, presumably.”

“No, it's just...I thought...” Luke shook the morbid thought from his head, “Nothing. I need to get ready.”

He grabbed a pudding cup from the fridge as Clive made it to the front door, “Ready for what?”

“I leave today for school.” Luke dunked a metal spoon into the pudding to take a big bite, “It's a pretty big deal. I've never been away from home that long.”

“How long will you be away?” Clive opened the door to let the boy pass.

“Just a few months. I don't know if I'll be there full-term yet.”

They parted ways in front of the house with a quick goodbye, and Clive returned to his main task.

His ultimate revenge plan had yet to commence, and he was going to make sure no bystanders got hurt this time. It was visceral, the way his smile lifted into a devilish grin. As long as he had a task, he could at least pretend.

After all, pretending was what he was best at.

***

He finally let his posture droop once he'd entered the house. He didn't expect to be out all day. Even though he applied at the same newspaper he'd worked at in the past, it was no guarantee he would get the job. He cast his mind back to see if he'd done anything wrong, but he came up blank. Oh well, it was too late now. All he could do at this point was wait.

The light was on in the kitchen, so Clive took a moment to compose himself, tugging on the collar of his shirt so it wasn't so suffocating. He entered to see Layton staring into an empty teacup, his brow furrowed, lost in thought.

Clive kept his voice down so as not to startle him, “Professor?”

Layton’s focus snapped to him, “Oh, Clive. I didn't hear you come in. How was your job interview?”

Clive had a bad feeling as he sat across from Layton at the table, “Good. What's wrong?”

Layton laced his fingers together in front of him, returning his unfocused gaze to the teacup as he gathered the rest of his thoughts.

“The medication you took.”

The hair on the back of Clive's neck stood on end. Where was this going?

Layton returned his scrutinizing look to the young man in front of him, “Was it Lithium?”

_Lithium._

The word echoed in Clive's head until a short laugh escaped him. He rested his head in his hands as he was captured by another laugh, louder this time. More hopeless.

“So, you've figured it out.” he lifted his eyes as they glistened with tears that threatened to fall, “I should've known I wouldn't be able to hide it from you.”

“So it's true?” Layton lifted his hat from his eyes, “You have Bipolar Disorder?”

Clive rubbed his eyes, “Yes. I have _severe_ Bipolar Disorder. How did you know?”

Layton was calm as he answered, “I stopped by the library on my way home from work. They have fancy computers there that can search their entire database for specific books and research papers. All I had to do was find a paper that fit your symptoms.”

“Ha. Brilliant as always, ey Layton?” Clive sighed sadly as he twiddled his thumbs, “I suppose there's no point in hiding things from you when you always find the bloody answer anyway. It first happened when I was eight; I had a kind of confidence that I couldn't describe. However, only days later, it was replaced with such a feeling of despair. I cried all day and all night over the ache in my chest that never wanted to leave. My teachers initially thought I'd been possessed by evil spirits or demons, but unfortunately, it was a problem that came from within.”

Clive lifted his gaze briefly to see how Layton was taking the news, but he remained impassive. He lifted his hand in a gesture to continue, so Clive pressed on.

“The building that Hawks and Allen used to test their time machine also housed other kinds of scientists. One of these was trying to study Bipolar Disorder, but didn't have enough subjects, so I became a way for him to watch the illness and hopefully come up with a cure. Don't worry, it was nothing dangerous. Most of it just consisted of me doing normal things while hooked up to a brain scan. I was also the first human he would test his treatments on. It's how he discovered that Lithium helped to stabilize moods, and it became normal for me to take it every morning before school.”

He ran his hands up and down his tie, almost like he was trying to ground himself in the present, “However, it wasn't perfect. My moods still swing back and forth more than your average person, and if I missed even one day of taking the drug, I would already be halfway back to going mad. The scientist wanted to find an even better method for treatment, but before he could find it...”

The explosion that killed his parents came back to the front of his mind, and his mouth snapped shut.

Layton frowned, “I see.”

Clive wanted to get up and run away, hide where no one could find him, but something kept him planted in that chair. Something that made his heart hurt.

Layton folded his arms as he sat back in his chair. Maybe he was trying to look less threatening, “Why didn't you tell me?”

Clive finally stood from his chair, “Because it doesn't matter. I am a madman. That doesn't change just because you have a name for it now.”

“But Clive, it _does_ matter.”

“Why? Why does it matter, Layton? I'm still the one who posed as your apprentice just to mess with you, and I'm still the one who diverted scientists from the time machine to build a fortress for genocide. Did you conveniently forget that? Or are you employing mercy just because I have something to blame my madness on!?”

He was breathless by the time he'd finished. He blinked back angry tears, looking down as they cascaded down his face.

“Clive.” Layton stood from his chair as well, but continued to keep his distance, “What if someone else were in your place?”

“Huh?” Clive tried not to let his voice shake, but he failed miserably, “What do you mean?”

“What if you died in that experimental failure, instead of your parents?” Layton carefully watched Clive for any more signs of defiance, “They would be beside themselves with grief, just as you were. What if they tried to get revenge on everyone the same way you did? Would you feel they were mad as well?”

Clive tried to say that yes, anyone with his level of madness would be irredeemably insane. Maybe just to spite the professor, maybe out of a sense of denial, maybe just because he was sick and tired of everyone who mattered leaving him all alone, but whatever the reason, the words wouldn't leave his lips.

He couldn't.

“No.” he finally said, sinking as if that single word was exhausting to say.

Layton gave him a patient smile, “Precisely. You're a good person deep down, I know you are. That's why it matters.”

Clive leaned against the table, placing one hand over his constricting chest.

“Is it because...” he inhaled, _“...I_ matter?”

“Yes.” Layton moved around the table to stand beside him, _“You_ matter.”

It was more than he'd ever dared to consider. Even though his illness wasn't his fault, he still couldn't help but feel his madness automatically made him a worse person. He didn't think he deserved anything a normal person would, because he wasn't normal.

But simply by placing the same situation onto another...

Clive collapsed into Layton's arms, once again a complete sobbing mess.

***


	6. Chapter 6

He got the job. Step 1: Complete.

He was going to have to be careful with how he proceeded. If Hawks caught wind of what he was up to, then his life was in danger, and it would jeopardize his entire mission. Step 2 would involve securing his position and moving away from London, cutting all ties with Layton in the process. He wouldn't be safe otherwise, and Clive still had an obligation to cause as little collateral damage as possible.

His battle of wits with Hawks was underway.

His job mostly consisted of simply running the printing press, folding up the pages and rolling them up for delivery once each paper had been printed. That meant he was at a perfect vantage point to organize each piece of information and collect everything he could related to his mission. He also had access to the archive, where past information was stored, though sorting through everything was quickly becoming tiring. It was full of years worth of information, after all.

Any bits he thought might be relevant were stored in a locked metal box, which Clive kept in his work desk. He couldn't risk anything getting out until he was absolutely sure he could incriminate Hawks. That meant collecting more than just the story, but also any evidence of Hawk's misdeeds.

He closed up the press on his way out, scowling at the ink stains that never seemed to wash off his hands, then he started home.

Home? No, it was Layton's house. When did he start thinking of it as home? He shook the thought from his head. Whatever it was, it was only a short bus ride away.

Climbing on the bus was no problem, getting off was no problem either. Nothing about his daily commute stood out to him, until he was reaching for Layton's doorknob.

His sleeve had caught on something, and blood was steadily dripping down his arm onto the pavement below.

All the blood drained from his head. He yanked the door open, running up the stairs and locking himself in the bathroom. It didn't even hurt. The bandaged wounds on his arm had reopened and were spilling blood everywhere. He began to feel lightheaded, but there was still no pain. Just that intense feeling of danger. He grabbed a wad of toilet paper to try and staunch the bleeding. Bloody hell, what if Layton saw this!? What would he-!?

 _“Clive!?”_ Layton tried the doorknob, but found it locked, _“Clive, what happened!? Are you okay!?”_

He sounded genuinely worried. Oh, what had he done!?

“Jus-Just a minute!” Clive rolled up his sleeve to have better access, pressing even more firmly with the roll, “Um, do you have a first aid kit in here?”

Layton was quiet for a moment, but sure enough he answered, _“It's under the sink.”_

Clive breathed a sigh of relief, checking the cabinet below to find the white box with a red cross on it, “Just hold on, I'm okay.”

He didn't hear footsteps moving away, which he probably should have expected, so he just ignored it as he finally got the bleeding to stop, removing the wad of toilet paper to clean the wound and wrap it in gauze. Once he'd assured he wasn't bleeding to death, he stood up straight to assess the rest of the damage. He was covered in blood, like someone had attempted to murder him.

His bangs fell over his eyes as he whimpered, _“Oh god...”_

_“Clive?”_

Clive realized there was no point in delaying the reveal. _Just do it quick, like ripping a band aid off. Get it over with now so it can be over sooner._

It was easy to say, but much harder to put into practice. He unlocked the door, but hesitated as he pulled it open.

He gulped. _Please don't hate me._

The door swung open, and Clive closed his eyes...

***

 _“Oh god, she's going to_ kill _me!”_

_Clive had already dropped the knife, spilling blood onto the lush carpet of his bedroom. What was he thinking!? He was happy now! He had a family! People still loved him! Why resort to something so painful!?_

_He reached for the tissue box on his bedside table, grabbing a few tissues to hold to his arm. The bleeding didn't stop._

_This was it. Lady Dove would decide she didn't want him anymore and take him back to the orphanage. Nobody would love him after what he had done. He was crazy. He was a madman. His life was over and it was all his fault._

“Clive, Darling?” _Miss Dove's voice came from the other side of the locked door,_ “Are you alright?”

You're going to break her heart! _“Y-yes, I'm fine.”_

 _She didn't seem convinced,_ “Are you certain? You sound very upset about something.”

_“Sure! Yes! I'm sure!” his voice cracked. The bleeding wouldn't stop._

_He thought maybe he'd thwarted her for now, but instead she turned to someone else in the hallway,_ “Spring, can you help me unlock this door?”

_“No! You can’t-!” he swallowed his words. They were on to him. They knew something was wrong._

“Then please let me inside, dear.” _Lady Dove said softly,_ “I'm very concerned about you.”

_Clive realized he was trapped. They would have found out no matter what. It was naive of him to think he could hide it. He resigned himself to going back where he was hated. Where he was nothing but a madman._

_The door unlocked with a click, and Clive went back to his bed to nurse his injury._

_Lady Dove opened the door to push her wheelchair inside. Her eyes fell on the knife on the floor and then on the trembling 13-year-old on the bed. He refused to meet her gaze._

_“Clive.” Dove came closer to lay her hand on his shoulder, “Clive, look at me.”_

_She didn't sound upset, so he risked a glance. His eyes widened. Her face was full of sadness._

_Clive looked back down at his arm, “Do you hate me now?”_

_“No, darling.” Dove let her wrinkled hand rest on his cheek, just as his mother had done in the past, “I'm just shocked, and afraid for you. Let's get this wrapped up and then we can talk.”_

_Spring had already returned with the first aid kit. Dove took great care with the injury, cleaning and dressing it while Clive continued to expect the worst._

_“I ruined your carpet.”_

_“I can clean it.” Dove dabbed a bit of antiseptic on the cuts, making Clive flinch._

_“I ruined these nice bed sheets.”_

_“I can buy new bed sheets.” Dove mopped up the rest of the excess blood along the skin._

_“I ruined this blazer you gave me.”_

_“I can get you a new blazer.” Dove placed a large plaster over the wound, pressing down firmly so the edges would stick._

_Clive grabbed the hem of said blazer, still draped around his shoulders, “But-!”_

_“Clive, listen to me.” Dove took his shoulders in her hands, “I don't care about all of these things. They're just things. Things can be replaced, but you are one of a kind. You are irreplaceable. Do you understand?”_

_Clive hugged the injured arm close to himself, his sleeve still rolled up, “You don't hate me...?”_

_“Oh, child. No.” Dove held him close as he wept, leaning over the side of her wheelchair, “Why would I hate you? You're hurting. The fact that this happened is a travesty against you. I want to help you so this doesn't happen again.”_

_Clive cried into the old woman's shoulder, “I thought you would get rid of me! Everyone says that I'm crazy!”_

_“You're not crazy, child.” Dove temporarily addressed Spring, “What was it they said he had?”_

_“He has Bipolar Disorder, Lady Dove.”_

_“Ah, that's right.” Dove drew back to wipe the child's tears away, “Hush now, sweetheart. I said I would take care of you as long as I am able, remember?”_

_“Thank you.” Clive beamed, “I’m sorry for scaring you, Miss.”_

_“It's alright.” Dove ruffled his hair, “Now let's get you cleaned up. We can talk about this more after.”_

***

The memory flitted across Clive's mind as he kept his eyes closed, facing Layton as he emerged from the bathroom. His sleeve was still rolled up, and the blood really stood out against the grey and white.

He heard nothing, so his curiosity got the best of him and he cracked one eye open.

Layton was motionless, his head bowed so his hat concealed his eyes. His arms were crossed in front of his chest.

Clive was choked up as he mouthed, _I'm sorry._ Even though he had nothing to apologize for. At least, not to him.

Layton finally found his voice, which was carefully levelled, “What happened?”

Clive deflated when there was no immediate adverse reaction, “I had a bandaged injury on my arm. I guess I hit something to dislodge it on my way home.”

There it was again. He was referring to Layton's house as “home”. Why?

“That's all?” Layton lifted his eyes, “What caused the injury?”

Clive reached up to scratch at the ruined suit, “Um, it's complicated...”

That was _definitely_ the wrong thing to say. Layton was good at putting pieces together, and that one comment made them all fall into place.

“They weren't self-inflicted...?”

Clive hit his forehead with his uninjured arm, “Why do _you_ have to be the one who's always saving me? Why a _master puzzle-solver?”_

“So...” Layton was looking more and more disturbed by the minute, “The reason you hate dangerous situations is because you're drawn to them...?”

“And because sometimes I can't help but give into that feeling, at least to satisfy some crazy part of me.” Clive sighed, “I've been clean for about a month now, but for some reason the wounds just won't heal. Am I too rough with them?”

Layton gently took the injured arm, “When did _this_ start?”

Clive hid his face with his other hand, “When I was about thirteen. I don’t remember what triggered it, maybe I wasn’t used to Lady Dove’s house and all its bright picture windows on the second floor? I don’t know, but my head hurt like it was about to explode, and my heart hurt like I was having a heart attack. I don’t know what my thought process was exactly? All I knew is that I wanted it to stop.”

Layton let go to step back, “And it worked?”

“Yes. I actually felt normal for a while.” Clive rubbed the back of his head, “I know it’s not a healthy coping mechanism, but when all else fails, it was always there. Now, if you tell _anyone_ about this-!”

“I would never.” Layton assured, “Although, knowing this, I don’t feel safe leaving you alone if those wounds can reopen at the drop of a hat.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I should have been more mindful of them.” Clive held the arm gently before letting it fall, “But don’t worry about me making any, uh, new additions. Like I said, I’m clean now, so I just have to let this heal and I’ll be fine.”

Layton was uneasy, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Sorry for the scare. I should probably clean this up.”

Clive was grateful he had a change of clothes. He only hoped the suit could be salvaged.

***


	7. Chapter 7

_Where is it?_ Clive sat at his desk at work, massaging a place on his head where a migraine was forming, _Where is it!?_

Every paper related to the case of the time machine explosion was erased. He only had scraps of the full story, not even enough to fit into a frame.

He couldn’t risk conducting a wider search, though. Too many eyes were on him as it was. If he tried to go out further, he would be putting himself and Layton at risk.

Fine. He would leave, then. He was stubborn. He was trying to hide his identity anyway. He was always the last to leave work, so he made sure he had the key to his box before closing up shop to head back. His hand wandered to the bandages under his sleeve as he rode on the bus, then again while he was walking. One thing he hadn’t realized at first is that Layton used to always keep the front door locked whenever he wasn’t home, but now it was almost always unlocked. For him.

Another indication that he should leave soon. He went inside, “I’m home, Professor!” he closed the door and immediately set about collecting his things.

“Hello, Clive.” Layton emerged from the kitchen, “Erm, what are you doing?”

Clive slung the zipped-up bag over his shoulder, “I'm leaving. You know, moving out.”

“Oh.”

If Clive didn't know any better, he would say that the professor seemed marginally disappointed.

“What, you thought I would stay forever?” Clive didn't look at him, “I'm back on my feet, so I don't see why I need to stay.”

Layton didn't respond right away, so Clive headed towards the door. His hand was on the doorknob.

“How's your arm?”

Clive stopped, “Fine.” he pulled the door open, “Don't worry, it's mostly healed by now.”

“Where are you going?”

Clive formulated his answer carefully. Layton would figure out what he was doing no matter what, but if he was clever, he could at least delay the discovery until after Hawks was arrested. That way, Layton had a stronger chance of coming out unscathed even if Clive was put in mortal danger.

And, oddly enough, the best way Clive found to do that was to simply tell the truth, at least partially.

He closed the door, turning back towards the professor, “I’m on a mission right now. You recall how I'll be safe when I have a clear goal in mind?”

Layton gave a simple nod, so Clive continued.

“I want you to stay out of my way for now, alright? I'll come back to visit when it's all over.”

He was sure that Layton was already figuring it out, but if he just left without explaining himself, it would make Layton more likely to become suspicious. Alternatively, if he explained everything, Layton would insist on helping him, which would put him directly into the line of fire. This half-explanation was still not likely to work, but hopefully it would at least work better than the other ideas would have.

Layton finally shrugged, though his gaze never lost its scrutinizing power, “Alright. Stay safe, won't you?”

Clive smiled in sheer relief, “I promise, I'll explain everything when I get back.” he headed out the door, “Have a good day, Layton. I'll see you later.”

He hoped that sounded casual enough. His smile slowly fell the further he got from the house, his hand going to the healing cuts on his arm.

 _“Don't worry, Professor Layton.”_ he said under his breath, _“I'll protect you. It's the least I can do.”_

***

Clive risked a glance out the window of his new apartment, bolted shut for his own safety. He'd been on medication for about two weeks. He'd been clean on self-harm for about two months. The red cuts were slowly turning into white lines that didn't hurt to touch, but they did hurt to look at.

Still, his mind was far away from all that. He had gathered every scrap of information he possibly could on the case of the explosion at the polydimensional research facility, but everything he found was either carefully hidden or painted himself or Dimitri Allen as the bad guys. Of course, Clive knew he was far from innocent, but if he was to be punished as he rightfully was, then surely someone who maliciously took someone else's life in order to gain political power should receive some form of punishment. Right?

_Claire technically hurt you too._

“No!” Clive sat on his bed with his head in his hands, “Claire didn't know. Dimitri said she was only an assistant in their lab.”

_Dimitri could be lying. He lied to you._

“He wouldn't lie about Claire. He loved her.”

_Which is how you manipulated him._

“No! I mean, yes? But I was so sure...my plan...”

Was he trying to justify what he did? No! What he did was inexcusable! Yet, somehow...

“I served my time. I was punished. He wasn't.”

His thoughts drifted to Miss Dove. He used her fortune to build a death machine. Her money was sunk into something meant for genocide.

_You can never take it back. That money is gone forever._

Clive finally hung his head.

“I'm a disgrace. I didn't deserve her.”

He silently cried, the last of the sunlight in his room turning his floor red. This is somewhat how his old apartment looked on the morning he decided to take a walk. The day he decided to kill himself. The day Layton saved him again.

“Layton...” Clive furrowed his brow, “Why...?”

Claire didn't deserve to pay for any crime with her life. She may have been a scientist who made mistakes, but her punishment of death was far too harsh. Layton loved Claire too. It may be too late for her, but Layton deserved closure at least, and Dimitri was happy to serve his sentence for kidnapping all those scientists. Bill Hawks was the last on the chopping block, and he had been dodging justice for far too long.

That's when it hit him. On the day he was released from the mental ward in prison, the officer in charge of the future London case, Inspector Chelmey, told him about a secret initiative to put the Prime Minister behind bars. If he could just get his information to them-!

“That's it!” Clive gathered everything he could into his metal box and locked it up tight.

It was mid spring outside by now. He hardly noticed, aside from the fact that some snow had yet to melt and thus he couldn't run. Still, he made a dash for the bus stop, waiting for it to take him to Scotland Yard.

The sun had set, and it was dark.

Clive felt he was being watched by the time something hit his head. He dropped the box. He rose his fists to try and deflect his attackers, but they tossed him aside, and he landed in the melting snow.

“Ack!” the chill seeped through his coat and into his skin. It was so cold that it burned. His teeth chattered as static filled his head. The men reached for the box, and Clive jumped towards them, _“No!”_

They hit him again. Layton warned him about this. He was attacked too. It was so bad that he was in a coma for 3 months. Though Clive didn't fear death, he did fear failing his mission, so he tried to scream.

“Help! HELP I'M BEING ATTACKED! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!”

_“Stop right there!”_

The men lifted their heads, holding the box between them.

Clive knew the voice. _No. Not you again._

Professor Layton himself stepped into the light of a streetlamp, his eyebrows knit together in fury, “Give me that box.”

One of the men took it to run while the other lunged for Layton. He dodged the attack to run for the other man, blocking his escape.

“This doesn't have to be difficult.”

Clive was stunned. He'd never seen Layton so genuinely angry before.

Layton grabbed a nearby rusted pipe, raising it like he was holding a sword. His voice was still familiar, but it clearly held contempt as well. Clive shivered, not just from the cold this time.

_“I do not condone violence.”_

Both men made to grab him, but he spun the pipe so they were knocked off their feet. He swiped the box out of the air, attracting their attention away from Clive with his pipe still at the ready. The two men scrambled to their feet, though both made no move to go after him again.

A police car parked along the curb, and Layton dropped the pipe to run to Clive.

“Clive! Are you alright?”

“What the hell are you-!?” he gasped as Layton pulled him from the icy puddle, _“What are you doing here!?”_

“Oh dear.” Layton ignored the question, taking Clive's soiled jacket off to replace it with his own, “You must get out of this cold! Here.”

Clive tried to refuse, but Layton's coat was so warm and dry that he practically melted into it. He slid his arms into the sleeves, “My box.”

“You mean the evidence?”

Clive was dumbfounded. Layton had a teasing smile on his face.

“Why do you always...”

“Mister Layton?” one of the officers approached. It was Inspector Chelmey. The two thugs had already been arrested and were being dragged away.

“Ah, Inspector.” Layton handed him the box, “I believe this is a part of your secret case?”

Clive couldn't believe how careless he was, “You all figured out what I was doing so fast?”

“Not all of us.” Chelmey took the box in his hands, “But Layton was happy to fill me in.”

“Ugh.” Clive shakily stood, his pants heavy from the water, “Here's the key.” he procured said key from around his neck.

“Thank you, Clive.” Chelmey took that as well.

“Um, Inspector?”

“Yes?”

Clive swallowed his self-deprecating thoughts, happy at least that his medication was helping in keeping him leveled.

“I'm sorry for exploding on you back in the prison. It was completely uncalled for.”

He wasn't sure why he was apologizing, but some part of him wouldn't have felt right unless he did.

Chelmey huffed out an exasperated sigh, “You don't have to keep apologizing to me. Do you still feel guilty about your ruling? After all this time? Kid, I hold nothing against you. You may have been a criminal once, but you're not anymore, and I want Bill Hawks to come to justice as much as I wanted you to. Do you understand?”

Clive still felt guilty, but he said, “Okay. Thank you, Inspector.”

Chelmey gave Clive a rough pat on the shoulder, “Stay safe, Mister Dove.”

Layton gently guided him away from the street as the police car drove away with Clive's precious notes. He knew where Layton was taking him. He knew the way by heart.

Back at Layton's house, Clive took a hot shower while he waited for his clothes to dry. His socks were still drenched by the time he was dressed again, so he padded down the hallway barefoot. He made the walk to Layton's guest room on autopilot. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He had dreams of destroying London that made him burrow deeper into the sheets.

His parents and Miss Dove were there.

They hated him.

***


	8. Chapter 8

He fell into a kind of routine after that. He would wake up, eat the bare minimum to keep himself alive, go to work to earn his wage, and then he would sleep. He was feeling too sick to swallow pills, which he knew would mess him up but he didn't much care at the moment. He made a few trips back and forth between Layton's house and his apartment, mostly to do laundry and get a change of clothes for his next visit, but he didn't have the heart to leave Layton for long.

He woke up some mornings with his sleeve slightly rolled up, as if someone wanted to check on the wounds. Eventually, he started going to sleep with short sleeved shirts on, just to put Layton's mind at ease. He didn't like the idea that Layton didn't trust him enough to respect his privacy, but he did kind of understand it at the same time. Clive didn't even want to think about what he would do if he were in Layton's place. It made his heart ache.

He wanted to talk to Layton. He couldn't stay forever. He felt like he was pushing his boundaries a little too much, but at the same time he didn't want to leave without saying something. He would wake up every morning at 6 am sharp so he could avoid Layton all morning before he went to work. Layton was already home by the time Clive got back, but sometimes he could still easily evade detection. On the days he couldn't? Well, his throat would close up and he would avert his gaze until he ran upstairs.

It was now about 8 pm, and Clive was staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep as the guilt ate him alive from the inside out. What was stopping him from approaching Layton just to say “Thanks for saving my life again”? Why did he feel like he owed Layton an apology?

_“Clive!”_

The sudden voice made Clive sit up, “Layton?”

There was a knock at his door, _“Come downstairs, Clive! Quickly!”_

Layton’s footsteps receded away while Clive rubbed his eyes. He got out of bed to open the door and head downstairs.

Layton was sitting at the kitchen table. Wordlessly, he smiled as he handed Clive a newspaper.

Clive took it, glancing at the open page. His eyes shot open.

_‘Ex-Prime Minister of England Imprisoned’_ was the title. It covered the front page.

Clive read aloud, “‘Bill Hawks, the old Prime Minister of England, has been arrested on allegations of murder, bribery, theft, assault, attempted assault, and defamation, among other charges. He has been sentenced to ten years in prison.’”

A slow smile spread across Clive's face as he set the paper down. Finally. After all these years. After countless suffering.

After everything he went through.

He looked up into Layton's eyes, and his smile fell in an instant. Layton's eyes were sunken in, like he hadn't been sleeping.

He remembered his dilemma, and his gaze fell.

“Clive, are you alright?”

Clive shook his head, frustrated with himself. Why couldn't he speak?

Finally, he cleared his throat, _“How did you figure it out?”_

Layton stood from the table, “It was simple. You told me you had a goal. It was one you had to keep from me, it gave you enough of a purpose to preserve your own life, and it caused you to cut as many ties with me as possible. You also told me once that you are motivated to keep others out of danger, so because you pushed me away, I knew you were doing something dangerous. I concluded the rest fairly easily.”

Clive covered his face with one hand, “So why were you there?”

“Uhh...” Layton cleared his throat, “I...followed you. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Clive fell into a kitchen chair, “Stop caring about me! Why do you care so much!? I'm a stranger to you! It makes no difference to you whether I live or die!”

Layton stepped around the table, “Clive-!”

“You should have just let me die! Now the moment is over and I'm trapped in an endless cycles of madness! I would be fine if it wasn't for you! I _hate you!”_

Layton sighed, his hand resting on the table, “Clive, you don't really mean that.”

“Yes I do!” _Liar._ “I hate you and I hate everyone who let me suffer!”

“Clive, listen to yourself! You're not acting rationally!”

Clive stood up to slam the table with his fists, “As long as I am alive, as long as someone cares about me, I will never find peace! Just leave me alone! Stop making me feel so guilty! Stop making me care!”

He clamped his mouth shut, sinking back into the wooden chair. All the thoughts that had been rattling around in his head had just come pouring out with no sense of coherence whatsoever. How was he going to fix it? He couldn't leave like this. He had to explain how...

No, he didn't. He didn't have to explain. The man he was talking to was Professor Hershel Bloody Layton. He had all the clues. All he needed to do now was put them together.

And if the professor was good at one thing, it was putting the pieces of a mystery together.

“You care about me.” Layton stated, “You’re afraid that if I keep reaching out to you, then I will get hurt. Just like your parents and Miss Dove.”

Clive nodded, wiping his tears on the sleeve of his jacket, “I can recognize a pattern when I see one. Everyone who has ever loved me has gotten hurt. My parents, Lady Dove, the scientists researching Bipolar Disorder...even Spring and Cogg. I lose everything, over and over, and still people try and love me. Don't you understand, Layton?”

Clive stood up, feeling more lost than he had in many years as he stared down his mortal enemy.

“The reason I hate you so much is because I don't actually hate you at all.” he traced the grain in the table with one finger, “In truth, you remind me a lot of my own mother and father. They were highly intelligent and cunning, clever to the highest degree in my opinion, but they were also so kind to me, no matter how many times I fell to my illness. They never gave up on me, just like you.”

Layton remained quiet, and his expression was carefully guarded. He seemed like he was sad, though Clive wasn't sure what gave him that impression.

“If you died...” Clive sniffed, emotional once again, “I don't think I could live anymore. For any reason. I'm so sick of this constant greif. I just want it to be over.”

Layton let his arm wrap around Clive's shoulders, and he gladly leaned into the older gentleman for comfort. The constant pressure in his chest was steadily lifting.

“Do you want to know why I care?”

Clive crossed his arms, his eyes closed, “Sure.”

Layton continued to hold Clive in a side-hug as he answered, his voice carrying something like nostalgia.

“I knew someone who tried to hurt people, like you did. He didn't have Bipolar Disorder, but he did have amnesia for many years, and his memory was only restored by someone who tried to manipulate him.” Layton pulled his hat down over his eyes, “He was also once my best friend. I didn't forgive him for what he did, and I never reconciled with him either. I want to see him again, but I've acted so cold towards him that I feel strange trying to reconnect with him now, all these years later.”

Clive stared at the floor, his shoes tapping out some old rhythm.

“When I look at you, Clive...I still see that heartbroken child outside the research facility, crying out for parents who could no longer answer. You let your grief control you until even your sense of self was eroded away, and there is only one remedy for such a grief.” Layton stepped back to hold Clive’s shoulders in both hands, “Compassion.”

Clive didn't fight it this time. He was sick of fighting. He just wanted to feel okay again.

He smiled warmly, “You lost someone that day, too. Didn't you, Professor?”

Layton mirrored that smile, “Yes, and only the people who cared the most for me were able to help me heal.”

Clive revelled in this new feeling. Maybe he was on the manic side of his illness, but he didn't think so. This was something he had truly missed over the many years since Lady Dove died. It was such a tiny spark of a feeling, but he held onto it as tightly as he could.

Contentment.

“Oh,” Layton reached into his coat pocket, “While I'm thinking about it, you can have this back.”

Clive was incredulous as he took the wad of paper. It was his pastry.

He laughed, “Layton, isn't this a couple months old at this point?”

“It's only a little squashed. It hasn't spoiled.” Layton shrugged, “What can I say? I never had the heart to toss it.”

Clive peeled the paper back. It took him back to that day. It was strange just how far away it seemed. The day when he was so desolate that he was willing to do anything to stop the pain.

He took a bite, and somehow, it was even sweeter than before.

Maybe from now on, he could live in the present.

***

Wake up, eat breakfast, take meds, Clive had the motivation to find a new routine. He still lived alone, but he stayed in contact with Layton, and by extension Luke and Flora. He had a reason to live. He could keep going.

Every once in a while, he went to Layton's house after work instead of his own. He liked to hang out with Luke especially, who took a keen interest in the art of trickery, but he was also warming up to Flora, jumping at the chance to apologize to her for her kidnapping. She was cool with his presence after that. Layton had even convinced him to reconnect with Cogg and Spring now that Clive was less afraid of hurting people he cared about. The second he was on the phone with Cogg, he was assaulted by worried shouts of relief by both Cogg and Spring. He cried of course, his heart swelling with joy.

One day, he headed for Layton's door from the foyer, “I'm going home!”

“Aw, already?” Luke cleaned up the board game pieces, “Come visit again soon!”

“Of course!” Clive paused as he reached for the doorknob. There was a note on it, secured with a rubber band.

It simply said, _Stay safe out there, won't you?_ in Layton's handwriting.

Clive smiled, folding down the corner of the paper to let Layton know the note had been read, then he headed out the door and down the street. He had figured something out. He was safe, he was home, and he was loved.

He was ready for a night in after all the excitement, though. How exhausting.

THE END


End file.
